


Lockdown

by MikailaT



Category: Warcraft - All Media Types, World of Warcraft
Genre: Established Relationship, F/F, Pre BfA, i am the change i want to see in the world, post Before the Storm, soft, sylvanas is grumpy, talks of mental health, thalyssra is like 'babe please go to therapy', there is a criminal lack of thalvanas on this site
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-03
Updated: 2020-06-03
Packaged: 2021-03-04 05:07:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,087
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24528106
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MikailaT/pseuds/MikailaT
Summary: After the mess that was the Gathering, Sylvanas is angrier than ordinary. A certain Grand Magistrix takes the time to solve that problem.
Relationships: Thalyssra/Sylvanas Windrunner
Comments: 9
Kudos: 61





	Lockdown

It was a bad day for Sylvanas. That much was obvious to anyone who had the misfortune of working with her that day. It was a bad day yesterday as well. Ever since that infernal Gathering. If she still had blood flowing through her veins, simply thinking about it would raise to a boil. She did not raise her voice to anyone, as that would risk casualties with how angry she was. Nevertheless, she was cold, short with others, and did not mince her words when it came to disappointment. No one who saw her that day found the experience pleasant, least of all Sylvanas. Alas, she had no outlet available to her. So she simply sat on her throne, conducted the usual monotonous affairs of her now regular schedule, and allowed her anger to fester. 

The Warchief’s attention was taken away from the parchment she pretended to busy herself with and onto a portal that ripped its way into existence in the center of her Throne room. Battle axes and venom laced arrows were trained on the arcane door ready to smite whoever had the nerve to portal into Grommash Hold unannounced. 

Grand Magistrix Thalyssra stepped out of the portal, her expression calm and unaffected by the multitude of lethal weapons fixed on her position. She looked up at Sylvanas, who met her calm, steady gaze with one of intrigue. A wave of the Warchief’s hand lowered the axes and arrows trained on her.

“I wish to speak with the Warchief,” Thalyssra exclaimed firmly. “Alone.” 

The Kor’kron and Dark Rangers all looked at Sylvanas, silently awaiting her order. After a beat of tense silence, she spoke.

“Leave us.” 

Without another word, the company all filed out of the Hold. After a moment, they were the only two inside. 

Thalyssra went to work swiftly, with a wide sweep on her arm, the heavy steel doors to the throne room, as well as those of the hold’s entrance, slammed shut and locked. A flourish of her arcane marked fingers placed defensive wards on the doors, guarding them against physical or magical attacks. Another ward was put in place to stop any sound from leaving the building. 

Grommash Hold was completely locked down.

“Grand Magistrix,” Sylvanas greeted, finally. The haunting echo of her powerful voice rang throughout the room. “You understand that, as Warchief, I am a very busy woman. Surely this intrusion could wait?”

“Not when you are in desperate need of solace, my little bird,” Thalyssra said with a smile. That name. Only ever spoken when the two of them were alone. Safe from the eyes and ears of the outside world. A pet name that would have earned an arrow to the throat of everyone else. But not Thalyssra. 

“And who says I am in need of solace?” Sylvanas asked, her face giving away nothing. 

“One of my mages came to me,” Thalyssra explained as she stepped towards the throne. “She said you’ve been angry since you returned to Orgrimmar.”

“You have your people spying on me?” Sylvanas’ expression turned cold, her crimson eyes burning just a degree hotter in anger. 

Thalyssra shook her head. “Not spies. Just friendly faces who look out for you on my behalf.” She stopped just shy of the throne. Her Nightborne physiology forced her to tilt her gaze down at Sylvanas, even at the Warchief’s slightly higher elevation. She wished to simply close the distance between them and pull Sylvanas into an embrace. But not yet. She could only touch her when her raven allowed it. That, she knew well enough already. “I know you struggle with your emotions. It does you no good to allow them to stew in your mind.” 

Sylvanas came dangerously close to sneering at her. “You think you know me so well?”

Thalyssra smiled. “I know you because you’ve allowed me to know you.” Her mind drifted back to that fateful night in Suramar. Where the two of them had a moment of reprieve together, away from their trials and tribulations. She shared her story to Sylvanas and earned hers in kind. She heard the Dark Lady sing the song of her suffering and soon broke in Thalyssra’s arms as a result. She listened to Sylvanas’ anger and sorrow and did not turn her away as so many others have. She learned, quite pleasingly, that the undead were still very much capable of love. It was a night that seared its mark beneath their skin forever. 

Sylvanas had no response to her lover’s words. Any venomous retort she could muster died in her throat as she saw that smile. She looked away, the dark power behind her eyes flaring with emotion which brought about a gentle red glow along her ashen cheeks. 

“Talk to me, Sylvanas,” Thalyssra pleaded gently. “Tell me what ails you, and I will help you bear it.” 

Sylvanas sighed, rising from her seat and closing the distance between the two of them. She rested her head against Thalyssra’s shoulder, allowing the Nightborne to wrap her arms around her. She spoke of the Gathering. How the Alliance’s new High King spoke of his hopes for peace to her only to allow Calia Menethil to all but stage a coup against her. The ‘Princess’ who had abandoned her people to her brother’s slaughter for years only to come back and try to retake her throne as if she had any understanding of the Forsaken and her plight all because it was her supposed birthright. How she killed the would be usurper only for Wrynn to walk away with the confidence that the Horde hadn’t the strength to challenge him or his Alliance. 

“It was a complete shit show,” she closed out. 

“A colorful choice of words, my little bird,” Thalyssra said, having long since lowered the hood of Sylvanas’ cloak so she could thread her luminescent fingers through her hair. “You are right to be angry. Menethil had no claim to you or your people. Not after the Alliance turned you away like they did. I know very well the strife that ‘royal blood’ can inflict on a people.”

Sylvanas’ anger ebbed in Thalyssra’s embrace, though her ailing did not. The muscles so flawlessly preserved under her pale skin were still tense. Her unease was not gone, even if the vindication of Thalyssra’s words offered her some relief. 

“...You did not have to come here,” Sylvanas said, her voice far gentler. Almost vulnerable.

“No, but I wanted to,” Thalyssra replied. “Our duties have kept us apart long enough. I missed you, little bird.” 

It took everything Sylvanas had not to shiver in delight at those words. It took even more than that to resist nuzzling against her lover’s neck. 

After what felt like an eon, Thalyssra pulled away enough to look Sylvanas in the eyes. “You have quarters here, yes?” she asked.

Sylvanas let out a small huff of laughter. “I do, though if you came all this way just to bed me, you could have just asked.” 

“Perhaps later, but not yet,” Thalyssra chided gently. “I wish to help you relax.” 

Just as Sylvanas was about to ask for clarification, Thalyssra placed a hand on the small of her back and guided her down the steps of the throne. She could have removed herself from the other woman’s grasp and berate her for such presumptuous behavior, yet she couldn’t find it within herself to want to. Wordlessly, she directed the two of them to the Warchief’s Quarters. 

It was furnished as one would expect from most of Sylvanas’ predecessors. Large, bulky bed frame. Wolf pelts and spikes everywhere. Something fitting of an orc chieftain rather than the Banshee Queen. Perhaps that was a statement to how little she used this room. The only notable difference was several magelight lamps in place of torches.

A wisp of magic closed the heavy wooden door behind them. “Alright. If you could remove your armor and lay down on your stomach, we can begin.” A single finger pressed against Sylvanas’ lips before the lewd retort she knew was coming could be uttered. “Patience, love. Treatment first.”

Sylvanas merely smirked and ran the tip of her tongue along the length of Thalyssra’s finger. She relished in the faint buzz of arcane that tickled her long-dormant taste buds. “Am I to understand you are offering me a massage.” 

“A smart little bird,” Thalyssra said with only the slightest bit of sarcasm. 

She watched as Sylvanas wordlessly unfastened the plate mail she was clad in, allowing it to fall unceremoniously to the floor. Soon her lover was in her basic ranger leathers. The absence of heavy armor and her cloak brought closer attention to her lean, lithe frame that was more muscles than curves. Thalyssra had to refrain from biting her lip as she guided Sylvanas over to the bed. 

Sylvanas laid on her stomach. While she tried not to show it, her tension began to grow. To show her back like this to another person went against her instincts. She was filled with the urge to turn back around and face the other person. Acting against those urges only caused her body to stiffen further. 

“It’s okay, little bird,” Thalyssra cooed softly, kneeling down beside Sylvanas to meet her at eye level. “There’s nobody else here. It’s just you and me. You’re safe.”

“...I believe you,” Sylvanas nodded. 

“Will you allow me behind you?” 

“...Yes.” 

Thalyssra smiled before she stepped onto the bed. In a single graceful motion, she straddled Sylvanas’ waist, adjusting herself so her entire weight wasn’t bearing down on the smaller woman. “Is this okay.” 

Sylvanas nodded against the pillow. 

“If you want me to stop, don’t hesitate to tell me,” she added gently. It was then that she brought her finger onto Sylvanas’ back. Even just grazing the skin through her leathers, she could feel how tight her muscles were with tension. 

“Thalyssra, I know you’re trying to be gentle, but I cannot feel that,” Sylvanas all but bemoaned. 

“Patience, my darling,” Thalyssra cooed. In truth, this was not intended to be a simple massage. A smirk that bordered on the line of mischief grew on her lips as she allowed the arcane power that flowed through her being to course down her arms and through her fingertips. As she bore down on the first knot she found, a pulse of mana washed over Sylvanas. They learned quite a while ago that, undead or not, Sylvanas’ Quel’dorei body was still sensitive to arcane. Despite her muted tactile senses, she could still sense it’s presence acutely. As such, Thalyssra’s touch was easy for her to pick up, especially when it was accompanied by a surge of mana. 

The Dark Lady gasped, her entire body clenching. Thalyssra stopped immediately, waiting for her reaction.

“Are you okay?” 

“...Yes. I… I was just unprepared,” Sylvanas said, almost sheepishly. 

A smile returned to Thalyssra’s face. “Shall I continue?”

“You better.” 

The Grand Magistrix smiled and resumed her treatment. Her hands roamed everywhere, from the base of Sylvanas’ neck to the taught muscles in her lower back. Every knot she found was met with another gentle pulse of mana. Soon, the woman beneath her was melting, her body completely limp. Her face was lodged firmly against the pillow in a futile attempt to conceal the moans rolling from her throat. 

“...Anar’Alah, don’t you dare stop,” she said, her voice slightly muffled. 

“I wouldn’t stop for anything, my little bird,” Thalyssra assured her as she continued her work. When the muscles in Sylvanas’ back were thoroughly tenderized, she lifted herself off of her waist and sat at her side to work on her legs. She kneaded the hard muscles in her thigh and calf on one leg, leaving a few ripples of arcane in her wake all the while, before moving onto the other. 

Sylvanas writhed slightly, rather instinctively than with any to escape her current position. Her body leaned into Thalyssra’s touch, silently requesting more of it. By the time her lover started pressing into the balls of her feet, she was biting the pillow trying to compose herself. Grunts and groans tore from her throat. Suddenly, the groans turned from bliss to frustration when she felt Thalyssra remove her hands.

“I told you not to stop,” she growled. 

“Your body is practically gelatin, little bird,” Thalyssra tutted with a smile. “What tension is there left for me to relieve?”

“The aching between my legs for one,” Sylvanas grunted, forcing her head up to glare at her lover with all the steel she could muster.

Thalyssra giggled, running an arcane lit finger up the curve of her lover’s spine. She relished in the shudder that rewarded her actions. “Do you truly ache for me so badly, Sylvanas?”

“Don’t make me beg,” Sylvanas nearly whined. 

“Would you?”

The Banshee was silent for a moment. “...I’m certainly considering it.” 

With a sympathetic sound, Thalyssra grabbed Sylvanas’ shoulder and turned her over on her back. The sight of the smaller woman with her platinum hair spilling over the bed and her chest heaving with unneeded breath stirred the warmth within her. 

“Then I won’t make you beg,” she said reassuringly. 

Sylvanas smiled before reaching out to grab Thalyssra by the back of the head and pulling her down for a fiery kiss.

The two of them laid flush against each other with nothing but a heavy bed sheet to cover their bare forms. The magelights were snuffed out, though the two of them could see perfectly fine, given their own sharp sight and the gentle glow of Thalyssra’s deep purple skin. 

Arcane seared fingers trailed against the arms that held Thalyssra so close. The two of them laid in silence as they fought to catch their breath after their rigorous lovemaking. The heady scent of their efforts hung in the air as it did against the sheets. Neither of them minded of course. For the longest time, their minds were too drunk with afterglow to mind much of anything. 

“I take it you feel better now?” Thalyssra said, tilting her head to the woman who held her so closely from behind.

“Immeasurably so,” Sylvanas purred, planting a gentle kiss on Thalyssra’s shoulder. 

“Good. I cannot take your troubles away, but I will be more than happy to ease your suffering.” 

“My dear, there is nothing on Azeroth that could take my troubles away.”

“Perhaps there are some ways to help you cope.”

Sylvanas sighed, sensing where this conversation was going. “I told you already. I’m not going to a psylosopher."

"I recall you saying such," Thalyssra noted. "I still have yet to hear a good reason why."

"It would be of no help," Sylvanas replied, the ice returning in her haunting voice. 

"It couldn't hurt to try."

“I don’t need someone I don’t know tell me how I should be feeling. I get enough of that, already,” Sylvanas said more firmly. “I’ve gotten this far on my own. I’m fine.”

Thalyssra was silent for a moment longer before turning over to face. Her expression was reserved and firm, but still clear with worry. “Sylvanas… if you were to find a crack in a longbow, what would you do about it?”

Sylvanas’ brow furrowed. Of all the things she expected Thalyssra to say, that wasn’t it. “...I would have the crack mended, of course,” she said. “Using resin or some other adhesive.” 

“But what if you didn’t do that?” Thalyssra followed up. “What would inevitably happen to the bow.”

“Well, obviously it would break under enough stress.” 

“Exactly. Everything in Azeroth requires care and maintenance, or else it will inevitably break.” She lifted a hand to cup the Banshees cheek. “Even you need this.” 

Sylvanas pulled away slightly, unsettled by Thalyssra’s words. “...So you’re saying I need to be fixed? That I’m broken?” she asked almost accusingly.

Thalyssra shook her head. “Never, little bird, but you have been under a great deal of stress for so long now. I can only imagine becoming Warchief has only made things harder on you. You need to take care of yourself or else you will break.”

Sylvanas frowned. “I have apothecaries and Val-”

“I meant your mind, Sylvanas,” Thalyssra urged. “What you’ve endured is enough to drive anyone insane a thousand times over. You are to be commended for being as lucid as you are for so long, but that doesn’t mean you should keep going as if nothing is wrong. Your mind is your most powerful tool. Don’t let it break over a silly thing like pride.” Thalyssra’s thumb came up to brush the tear streaks that were seared onto her lover’s cheek. “I’m saying this because I love you, and I want to make sure you’re well.”

Sylvanas hated it when Thalyssra talked like this. She had no possible recourse. She couldn’t prove her wrong. She couldn’t dismiss her reasoning, no matter how emotional and saccharine it sounded. She couldn’t blow up in her face without compromising the relationship they’ve managed to have together. In the admittedly short time they’ve known each other, Thalyssra knew just how to argue with Sylvanas, and she hated that. 

She managed to look Thalyssra in the eyes as she said, with as much conviction as she could call upon, “...I’ll make an attempt.” 

Thalyssra smiled, leaning forward to plant the gentlest of kisses on her lover’s lips. “That’s all I ask, Sylvanas. Thank you.” 

“You can thank me by ceasing your talk of my mental health,” Sylvanas chastised, but with no real bite to her words. “You’re killing the mood.”

“So sorry, little bird,” Thalyssra teased, shifting closer to Sylvanas so she could rest her head against her chest. 

Sylvanas made a noncommittal huff as she held the Nightborne woman close. They laid in comfortable silence for a while, Thalyssra enjoying the sensation of the Warchief threading her fingers through her hair. They would each have to return to their regular duties by sunrise, but until then, they had each other. They had this moment.

“...You said you loved me,” Sylvanas whispered..

“Mhm,” Thalyssra hummed, planting a gentle kiss on Sylvanas’ collarbone. “And I meant it.”

Sylvanas’ fingers stilled. “...I… I don’t think I can say it back. ...Not yet at least.” 

“I’m not asking you to, little bird,” Thalyssra murmured against the ashen skin of Sylvanas’ throat. “Take all the time you need. I can wait.”

Sylvanas couldn’t help but feel a relief course through her. 

“Thank you.”

**Author's Note:**

> We need more Thalvanas. If I must fill this site with a thousand more shitty works to make that happen, then so be it.


End file.
